Another girl.
Another girl who he's drunken up.
Another girl he's brought into our apartment.
Another girl who's all over him by the time they get through the front door.
Another girl, another girl.
Another girl who he's brought.
Another girl who he doesn't love.
Another girl who doesn't love him.
Another girl.
I remember when I wasn't another girl. I was his boy.
I remember how we'd laugh and cuddle all day with nothing else on our minds but each other.
But now he has a problem.
There's a bra on the couch. There's a shirt on the floor.
There's a room full of people and he's the only one I see.
I don't want to be another girl.
I don't want to be forgotten a few days later. I don't want to be remembered for my chest or my body shape.
I want to be remembered as his.
But I'm just another girl.
And he's just the only thing I ever have on my mind.